


Your Soul

by thaliaarche



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-06 00:06:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16377650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thaliaarche/pseuds/thaliaarche
Summary: "I’ll paint you a portrait. In exchange, you won’t take another sip from me.”





	Your Soul

Ciel wakes to another nightmare.

One kick and it stumbles back, crimson eyes shimmering, lips wet from the blood now trickling down his ankle. Upturning his pillow, Ciel grabs a silver knife, yet the monster plucks it from his fingers by the blade and flings into the wall behind him.

“Any more tricks?”

Silence.

“You’re going to kill me,” Ciel finally says.

“I decided that a mile away,” it answers in a purr. “Your scent is … persuasive.”

“Persuasive?” Ciel bursts out laughing, only a little hysterical. “Do you always flatter your victims?”

“I appreciate beauty in the rare instances where I find it.”

“… Oh?”

He sounds oddly thoughtful, and it smirks. “Would you like me to be specific? I find your scent silky, bright, full-bodied–”

“An impeccable vintage, I’m sure,” Ciel deadpans.

Its eyes glow with amusement. “Are you stalling for a purpose? To pull a silver machete from the mattress? Or perhaps there’s holy water in your chamber pot–”

“No,” Ciel intones. “But I wonder if another superstition’s true.”

“Hm?” It lifts an eyebrow.

“The one about mirrors.”

“Not because of the silver plating.”

“But it is true?”

It takes a moment to answer. “It is. We’ve no souls for the glass to reflect.”

“Well,” Ciel drawls, “I find that shameful. For a connoisseur of beauty such as yourself not to know what you look like … it’s a disgrace.”

It snorts. “I’ve been assured of the opposite.”

“You’ve been lied to.” Ciel leans back against his pillows, lounging like a prince, or perhaps just lowering himself before he can faint. “I’ll make you a deal.”

“A deal?” Its mouth stretches into a mockery of a smile, flashing sharp fangs.

“I’m the best artist of my age,” he says, carefully keeping his voice steady. “If you’ll sit for me, I’ll paint you a portrait. In exchange, you won’t take another sip from me.”

It contemplates the offer, tongue flicking out to taste the blood still on its lips. “Will you be done before dawn?”

“I will.”

“We have a deal.”

* * *

Ciel takes his time. Though dawn’s closing in, he’s deliberate in his actions, in posing Sebastian just so, in crushing the glittering pigments with which he laces his paints. He steals glance after glance at his model, sitting unnaturally still in the candlelight. It wears rags– an ill-fitting off-white shirt with tattered grey pants– but Ciel imagines them into something sharper. An elegant black-and-white suit, to match the rest of it.

He moves with furious purpose, a man inspired, painting the way the creature’s skin shimmers like moonlight. He paints the shadows that dance in its chiseled cheeks. He paints the hollow of its collarbones, the hard angles of its brow, the feather-soft black hair. He catches one impression after another and commits them all to canvas, draining every vial of paint, every last second dry.

“Done.”

There’s still no light except from the dying candle. It gutters as the creature flies to Ciel’s side and then stills once more, musing.

“This,” it remarks at last, “is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever come across.”

“It’s a truthful representation,” Ciel says.

“It is, but not a mirror’s.”

Its voice is laced with humor that chills Ciel through.

“Is there any chance you’ll honor the deal?”

“I wasn’t planning to,” it admits, utterly nonchalant. “But, my fellow twisted artist–” it bends forward and lifts the heavy canvas without the slightest difficulty– “I believe you’ve bestowed an even finer gift than your blood.”

“And what might that be?” Ciel says, forcing the waver out of his voice.

With the painting it glides to the open window, preparing to leap back out of Ciel’s life, and replies only with a smile.


End file.
